


Fragments of Sunlight

by PrettyThief



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Airplane Sex, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - War, Birthday, Canon Compliant, Coworkers - Freeform, F/M, Fake Marriage, Ficlet Collection, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, POV Outsider, School Reunion, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Time Travel, artist, athlete, dilf Jaime Lannister, mention of possible character death, pilot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-04-03 17:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21485236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyThief/pseuds/PrettyThief
Summary: A prompt-fill and ficlet collection, comprised mostly of syrupy sweet fluff about Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 150
Kudos: 286





	1. Name Day (Dystopian AU + Birthday)

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters are prompt fills for the [trope mashup](https://meridelclarke.tumblr.com/post/174003758104/fanfiction-trope-mash-up).
> 
> If you have a prompt, please send it to me via [tumblr](https://pretty--thief.tumblr.com/ask).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime has a name day. Brienne has gifts.

Brienne rises before the sun, the pre-dawn air cool on her skin and bitter with the smell of chemicals. The bitterness had come with the explosions a year ago and never left. It had only taken the adults in their party a few days to adjust, but the children still complained and asked questions. And though society is slowly rebuilding, no one has answers.

She unlocks her dented-but-serviceable Samsonite case, rummaging through its contents for a bag she had hidden away there several weeks before. It was probably too much; no one receives _gifts_ now. They are all just lucky to wake up each morning.

Jaime would be awake, she knows. He never slept well, but would often remain in his cot until the sun began to break across the horizon. She has never asked why. She never needed to. They all find their ways to cope, and no one questions anyone’s methods.

She finds him in his cot as expected, and exhales a breath she didn’t realize she was holding when she spots Myrcella still sleeping. The nine-year-old attaches herself to her father every waking moment, leaving precious little alone time for Brienne and Jaime. But she’s easy to love; brooding and sweet and developing a wry sense of humor that reminds Brienne of Jaime far more than the twin she’s only met in Jaime’s reluctant stories of her.

Brienne sits on his cot, rubbing a hand up his arm affectionately.

“Hey,” he whispers, shifting to face her with a smile and wrapping an arm around her hips.

“Good morning.”

Jaime sits up, pushes a stray falling of hair from her eyes, kisses her softly and quietly.

“Happy name day,” she says when he pulls away, pulling the worn cloth bag between them.

His eyebrows sink in uncertainty, looking from her to the bag. But he opens it, carefully unfolding a crimson cloak.

“_Brienne_,” he breathes, turning the cloak over in his hands to reveal the lion of Lannister embroidered on one side. The cloak is tattered at the hem and needs a wash. But it’s in good repair otherwise. “No one’s given me a name day gift since I was Myrcella’s age. And you managed to _here_, _now_.”

When his green eyes meet hers again, she thinks they appear a little misty even in the receding darkness.

“The last time we were separated, in Lannisport… I found this in the cellar of a ruined manse. I know most of your family’s heirlooms were destroyed and… you deserved something. For _her_.”

He smiles at her, wide and full of a love she has finally accepted is real, and for her alone. “Myrcella,” he says, leaning over to squeeze the arm of his only living child. “It’s a cloak, for our house. For us Lannisters. Brienne found it for us.”

As Myrcella stirs and sits up, Jaime holds Brienne’s gaze. “For all of us.” His hand shifts from her waist, sliding up to the barely perceptible swell of her belly.

And for the first time since the explosions, since realizing they had carelessly created life at the end of the world, Brienne allows herself to feel the tiniest glimmer of hope.


	2. In the Rose Garden (Fake Dating + Accidental Eavesdropping)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime reconsiders what his "fake" relationship with Brienne means to him.

Jaime could not pretend to understand his son’s taste in music. It was permeating the grounds of Casterly Rock, reverberating off the statues of the garden and vibrating the leaves of the rose bushes surrounding him. Just under the twang of banjos and, perplexingly, the slide of a synth, he could just make out the shouts and whoops of revelry going on back under the pavilion.

It still seemed bizarre to him that Tommen was old enough to be married, although barely. His father had wasted no time in betrothing the college freshman to the Tyrell heiress. By the time of the ceremony, the boy was only nineteen, and Jaime had had strong protestations to the wedding taking place so soon. But the concerns of an _unambitious father _did not factor heavily into the plans of Tywin Lannister.

The only bright spot was that his longtime coworker had accompanied him to the wedding, as she typically did for Lannister family functions. Brienne had been the only person that Jaime knew who was brave enough to weather the lions’ den. His father wanted Jaime to marry again despite being thirty-eight years old and _very much done_ with marriage. Brienne had been happy to help keep him from blundering onto the path of Tywin’s schemes that Tommen had been dragged onto.

But something had changed several years ago during a Lannister holiday dinner. His father had been in rare form, and Jaime had had to chase after her when she excused herself from the table in a hurry. The next thing he knew, they were in an empty library kissing against a bookshelf. Although he had not noticed it before, in that moment she had felt inevitable.

He had thought, that next day when he saw her at the office, that it would be awkward. 

It wasn’t.

It had continued not to be.

And so it had thrilled him when Brienne had led him to the gardens in the middle of the wedding reception. Jaime had winked at the collection of single young Tyrell women his father had assigned them to sit with. He had hoped to imply that he and his date were about to engage in the sort of alone time two slightly intoxicated people would engage in during a party, even if they weren’t actually going to.

But they were.

Sitting on an ornately carved stone bench amidst the perfume of hundreds of roses and some decidedly _horrible_ music, Jaime had one hand tangled in her hair and another wrapped around her back, and had just pulled her bottom lip between his teeth. Every time they kissed like this, it felt to Jaime like filling his lungs fully for the first time after spending a lifetime dipping below the water’s surface. He hoped the feeling would never end.

“You know,” she breathed when he had released her lip, but her hands were still needily clutching at the fabric of his tuxedo jacket, “I’ve always hated roses, but I think this might be a new favorite memory.”

He grinned, sliding his hand to the back of her neck and pressing his forehead to hers. “Mine too.”

He was about to kiss her again, when the unmistakable sound of someone approaching caught his attention, and the pair of them sprang apart like teenagers caught by a parent.

“I thought this was fake.”

It was Tommen, like a picture of himself at the same age the boy had been born: dressed in the same tuxedo, honey blonde hair parted to one side, and appraising green eyes.

“For Grandfather, right? That’s what you’ve always said.”

Jaime was without words and even in only the moonlight, Brienne’s deep rosy blush was visible.

“It … was.”

Tommen crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side. “How long?” There was a knowing smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, and Jaime wondered when his sweet, naive son had learned to look at adults that way. He imagined Brienne would accuse him of taking after his father.

Jaime glanced at Brienne, and she grimaced but her eyes held a smile.

“I’m not sure you were even in high school yet, Tom,” she replied sheepishly.

“What?!” Tommen laughed heartily, bending double for a dramatic effect. “Why are you still acting like it isn’t real? Do you think you’ve been _fooling_ Grandfather?”

Brienne turned back to look at him, and Jaime felt like he was seeing her for the first time. _Why_, _indeed_.

“Tommen,” he said slowly, but his eyes never left hers, “it _is_ still considered bad form to propose at a wedding, yes?” He grinned as her eyes widened and Tommen continued to laugh.

“You wouldn’t,” she growled, but he could still see the hints of the smile that wanted desperately to break free.

“No,” he agreed in a whisper against her ear, “but watch your back.”


	3. Inspiration (Athlete/Artist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime finds his muse.

She was sprawled on the park bench just down the path from him the first time he saw her.

Her ivory skin glistened with a sheen of sweat and she had just disentangled her damp hair from a high ponytail, allowing it to just brush her shoulders. He thought her legs must be longer than any other legs he had ever seen, barely covered by a small pair of running shorts. Her thighs were deceptively well-muscled, almost distracting from the softness of her skin there. Only a sports bra covered her broad torso, revealing an expanse of freckles like so many constellations painted across her abdomen and shoulders.

But what really drew him in was the look on her face. Her head was tilted slightly back, eyes closed and elbows resting upon the bench behind her. The late spring sun shone happily upon her, and she seemed to relish the feeling. A smile tugged at her overly plump lips, softening features that might have appeared mannish without the expression. She looked more content than anyone in New York City had any right to be. Jaime found it completely captivating.

He was loathe to interrupt this stranger’s post-run bliss, understanding the high himself. So he sat on his bench and tried very hard not to watch her as her breathing slowly returned to a regular rhythm. But he knew he had found what he had come to Central Park in search of.

Eventually, as Jaime was watching a flock of geese squabble on the lawn across from him, she stood to leave.

He scrambled to his feet and made after her, trying to keep his excitement at bay.

“Hi,” he said when he neared her.

She gave him an appraising look, but _her_ _eyes… _Jaime felt as though he might drown.

“Hello,” she replied cautiously, her voice a rich alto.

“_You have to let me paint you_.” His jaw dropped open and his eyes widened at the sudden ejection of the words from his mouth.

To his surprise, she laughed. “_Paint_ me? Are you… Are you a fan? Or…?”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Fan?” was all he managed. And then it hit him. _“Brienne Tarth!_ I apologize I didn’t recognize you before. I watched your gold medal race. You’re taller in person.” He grinned.

She only looked more confused, but her eyes lingered on him. “I should be going.”

“Wait. Can we start over? I’m Jaime Lannister–”

It was Brienne Tarth’s turn to widen her eyes. “Jaime Lannister? The same Jaime Lannister who painted ‘Kingslayer’ and 'Honor?’ The Jaime Lannister whose work hangs in every gallery of importance across the world? The one whose last piece sold for eight figures?”

He beamed, not his usual grumbling reaction to having his work lauded so openly. “The very same.”

“And you want to paint … me.” Her voice was flat, almost disbelieving.

“I do. Very much. Are you free? Could we maybe talk about it over coffee?”

She looked uncertain, but there was something else in her eyes that Jaime thought might have been excitement. She gave him a quick nod. “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet brought to you by a discussion of how much Brienne inspires Jaime, in canon, to be a better person.


	4. The New Year and Every Year (Love Confession + In Vino Veritas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime has a confession to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have borrowed a line or two from a certain Rob Reiner film and I’m not sorry to him for my blatant theft. Thanks to seethemflying for the prompt! This is definitely the most over the top JB thing I've ever written and probably ever will write, haha.

Brienne had never enjoyed parties. She had not, strictly speaking, been invited to many, but the few she had attended in her youth had been disastrous. The after-prom party with Ron Connington. The frat house with Owen Inchfield. Nothing good had ever come from a collection of people she knew drinking and dancing.

It was Margaery who had convinced her to come out, as it always had been in the four years they had been friends. It was better than ringing in the new year alone or with Hyle's football friends. Brienne did not care much for Robert Baratheon, but their families went way back, and he had at least never been cruel to her face. Jaime had always seen to that.

_Jaime_. He was supposed to be there--and maybe he was there somewhere, invited as Robert's brother-in-law even if he and Robert couldn't actually stand one another. Jaime had asked Brienne to be his date, knowing--_knowing _she had been seeing Hyle, knowing that she was making a genuine effort to have a love life and not actually die alone.

She had been angry with him for that, perhaps saying things she hadn't meant. Things about being Jaime's crutch since the day they met, and the way he seemed to always just _expect_ her to be there.

He could find his own date.

Or not.

It didn't matter to Brienne _at all_ what her friend did.

Not even a little bit.

"I think I'm going to head out."

Brienne's head snapped up from the fist it had been propped upon. She realized she had been brooding on the same vinyl lounge chair with the same now-warm bottle of beer for most of the night.

She frowned up at Hyle, squinting under the rainbow of strobe lights emanating from the dance floor. "It isn't even midnight."

He was standing over her with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and wearing an expression that _almost_ looked sad. "I know. You've barely said a word to me the whole night." He shrugged and heaved a sigh, looking out across the flashing dance floor. "Look, Brienne, if this isn't something you're interested in anymore, just say the word and I'll walk out of here. But I think you're pretty fun and I like that we can talk about sports. You're not like other girls."

Brienne tried, and nearly failed, to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. "Hyle, I'm sorry to break it to you, but I'm _exactly_ like other girls." She stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, aware but not caring for once that she towered over him. "I hope you have a good night, and a good New Year."

Hyle smiled and Brienne pulled him into an awkward, butts-out hug. "Good night, Brienne. I'll text you tomorrow." He gave her a peck on the cheek and disappeared toward the back door of Robert's club.

The little puff of laughter that escaped her lips surprised even Brienne. _I'll text you_, he'd said. He wouldn't, and she wouldn't either.

What was _wrong _with her that even a nice, unassuming man like Hyle Hunt couldn't hold her attention? She was thirty-three years old, and she just knew her clock was ticking. Her father constantly asked her about the men in her life, Margaery and Renly were always making suggestive comments, and Jaime treated her like she would be there forever to accompany him to events he didn't want to show up for alone.

Ten years they had carried on like that, pausing only for one another's terrible attempts at dating. They had met on a singles website at exactly the right time: Brienne had not gotten over the Owen Inchfield debacle but Margaery had wanted her to _try_, and Jaime had been similarly talked into it by his brother after a bad breakup. They had bonded over their shared lack of romantic interest in one another, and a disillusionment with romance in general.

"What are you _doing_?"

It was Margaery this time, dressed to kill in a red gown as Brienne was not in a blue sweater dress over tights.

"Just--thinking." She took a swig of her beer and cringed at the flat, warm feel of it.

Margaery's face grew sly. "Oh? About who?"

"No one important."

"Jaime's here."

Brienne's eyes flicked up to her friend's, noting the amusement they held. She dropped her gaze quickly, shrugging.

"He's been asking where you are." Margaery gave her a serious look then. "I know you two are having some kind of lovers quarrel--"

"We are _not_\--"

"--but I think it's very silly. _Everyone_ thinks it's very silly. Should I tell him where you are?"

Brienne sighed heavily, but before she could say anything, she spotted him. He was indeed looking around, prowling the perimeter of the dance floor. The lights flashed red and blue and green in his golden hair, pulsed white in time with the music, then cycled back through again. His hands were in the pockets of a wine red tuxedo as he walked, and Brienne couldn't help but think that it wasn't his outfit that was out of place, it was the setting around that was wrong. Jaime had always had a way of being the most correct thing in the room.

She looked back up at Margaery, who was watching her with a quirked eyebrow. She turned her head just in time for Jaime to notice her from across the building. He started to make his way quickly toward them and Margaery made to leave.

"I'll leave you two alone. Ciao, Brienne. Let me know you make it home… or wherever you end up sleeping!"

Part of her wanted to beg Margaery to stay. She didn't want to face Jaime's irritation with her alone, especially when he saw that Hyle wasn't actually with her.

"I wasn't going to come," he said when he was in front of her. His green eyes were so intense that Brienne had to set down her drink for fear it might slide from her hand under the heat of them.

"I know that."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking."

Brienne bit her lip. Had he been drinking? There was a thin layer of sweat on his brow and a nervousness around the corners of his mouth that she didn't recognize.

"Alright," she said uncertainly.

"The thing is, Brienne, I love you."

She stared at him. "You're drunk."

"I'm not. I love you." He wasn't breaking his gaze, but his pupils were as large as they were on the few times she has seen him drink enough to act the way he was now.

"I think you must be. You wouldn't say these things if you were sober."

"_Brienne_," he said, annoyance showing in the crinkle between his brows. "Would you like me to take a breathalyzer? Ned Stark is here somewhere, I’m sure he keeps one on his person at all times.” He gave her a rueful smile then. "I'm not drunk, Brienne, I am _in love with you._"

"You can't--you don't…"

"I can. I do. I didn't ask you to be my date tonight because I thought you'd be available, or because I feel _entitled_ to you. I hate that you think that." He took her hand then, gently as though afraid of her reaction, but she couldn't react at all.

His voice softened when he spoke next, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I asked because I love the way you never give up on anything. I love that I always want to call you first when I've had a bad day--or a good day, or _any_ day. I love that you don't let me get away with anything. I love the way you blush every time you have an emotion." He grinned as she did just that. "I love how wide your eyes get when I say something ridiculous, and how blue and honest they are. I love that you're the only thing that could convince me to come to one of Robert Baratheon's parties. I love that there's no one else I'd rather enter a new year with, and _gods_, I want to spend every single year of my life with you and I'm _sorry _it's taken a decade and this stupid fight for me to realize it."

Brienne just looked at him with her jaw slightly slack. Maybe he wasn't drunk. Or if he was, it didn't matter, because she was pretty sure she actually _believed_ him.

"Say something. Please." He squeezed the hand he was holding.

Brienne looked down at his touch, couldn't stop the little smile that made its home on her lips. "I don't… I don't know what to say," she said, bringing her eyes up to his once more.

Jaime placed his free hand on her scarred cheek, a gesture no man she'd ever dated had seemed to want to do. "You could just tell me."

She laughed in spite of herself and brought her hand up to cover his. "I love you, Jaime."

And then he kissed her, and the whole world seemed to fade away. She didn't register her friends watching from a distance, didn't hear the crowd begin to countdown the seconds to the new year, couldn't have told you what Hyle Hunt even looked like. In that instant, there was only Jaime, who loved her, and who she loved _so very much_ in return.


	5. The Mile High Club [Airport/Travel AU + Fake Married]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne are caught, and Jaime gets defensive.

Theon really had to piss.

He had purchased first class tickets that had come with the promise of a decent restroom, but the one he was standing outside of had been occupied for at least ten minutes. The cabin of the plane was dark and the inhabitants asleep on the 13 hour flight from King’s Landing to Asshai. Theon never slept well on airplanes, much preferring to travel by water. He had instead had several drinks and the need to relieve himself was becoming quite a dire situation.

He had tried knocking but had only received a stiff “occupied” in a clipped grunt. But there had been shuffling inside, like the inhabitant was not using the restroom for its intended purpose at all.

He leaned forward, ear pressed carefully to the door, and could hear whispers.

“Oh _gods_,” a woman was groaning.

_Well, this is interesting_. Theon grinned, mischief creeping in over his annoyance.

“Mmm, right there, right there, _right there_.“ 

Based on the very wet, very _specific _noises he could make out through the plastic restroom door, he guessed someone’s head was between someone’s thighs.

_These horny bastards._

”_Say it, Brienne_,“ a man’s voice commanded in a gravelly whisper, "tell me what you want me to do with you.”

Theon couldn’t make out her response, but he knew what fucking sounded like. And the people inside were _definitely_ fucking.

He took a step back, chuckling to himself. He shouldn’t interrupt them. He really shouldn’t. _He_ wouldn’t want to be interrupted.

After a moment, Theon rapped on the door.

No answer.

“Open up! I know someone’s in there.”

A beat, and then the door flew open, sending Theon stumbling backwards. He didn’t think anyone would actually respond to him.

A tall, golden-haired man in an unkempt pilot’s suit barreled out the door toward him, angry green eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed. Theon was not one to squirm, but the way the man looked at him made him want to scamper off back to his seat. He held his ground.

“What the hell do you want?” hissed the man who looked like he might be about to break Theon in half.

He rallied his courage, something he had always possessed much more of than sense. “Do you actually _work_ for this particular airline? Isn’t fucking customers in a loo against company policy or something?”

The pilot surged forward until he was inches from Theon’s face. “Is that a threat, sir? I’ll have you know–that is my _wife_!”

Theon glanced over the man’s shoulder to see the ugliest, largest woman he had ever laid eyes on. She had an unfortunately arranged face and meager breasts beneath a T-shirt with _Storm’s End Knights_ stamped across it. She wasn’t wearing a ring, and neither was the pilot.

Theon smirked, incredulous that anyone might think that he of all people cared whether their mile-high fuck was done within the holy confines of wedlock. It wasn’t like he was _actually_ going to turn them in.

“_Jaime_,” she chastised, the blush on her face deepening to a blotchy crimson that overtook not just her face but her neck and ears.

The blonde man whipped his head around to look at the large woman and took a step back from Theon as if startled by his own name.

“My apologies,” he said stiffly, straightening his back. Theon got the distinct impression he was witnessing a common routine between these two people: he would lash out, she would chastise, he would humble himself until she was satisfied. “We are not afforded much time together. Conflicting work schedules, you understand.” The pilot clapped Theon’s shoulder and gave him a cutting smile that Theon suspected was meant to be genial.

The woman unfolded her arms and moved to the doorway of the restroom to stand beside the pilot, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his cheek, and Theon felt more invasive than he had even while listening to them fuck.

“I’ll be back in my seat. If you get another break from the cockpit, come join me? Otherwise I’ll see you when we land.”

The pilot gazed fondly at this terribly ugly wench and brushed a strand of coarse blonde hair from her face with his fingertips, tucking it safely behind her ear. This time when he smiled, looking at her, the warmth _did_ show through.

Theon wanted to make a cutting remark, or to bowl past them to get to the restroom. But he found that he couldn’t. The pair of sickeningly in love, not-married strangers only made some small part of Theon wish that someday someone might look at him like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love these prompts. I have a few still hanging out in my ask box that I will get to. Please feel free to submit more, I would absolutely love to write them! [List of tropes](https://meridelclarke.tumblr.com/post/174003758104/fanfiction-trope-mash-up). Send them to my [ask box](https://pretty--thief.tumblr.com/ask) or you can request them here, too! Thanks for reading, as always!


	6. Wildling Marital Practices [Accidental Marriage + Did They Or Didn't They]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime protects Brienne from herself, and perhaps makes a small mistake along the way.

Jaime glared, his hand white-knuckling the pommel of his sword. “Do you think that I will simply let you go?”

Brienne’s blue eyes seemed to flash red in the firelight. Her shoulder was braced against the door that would lead her from the entrance of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to a frozen hellscape beyond.

“Do you mean to try to stop me, Ser Jaime?”

_Ser_. She only used honorifics for him anymore when she was at the height of her passion. Brienne was angry, but so was Jaime. He took a step toward her, his hand never leaving his sword.

“Do you think I couldn’t, wench?” His voice was dark, dangerous velvet. “This is a fool’s errand. Castle Black has fallen. Lady Sansa is _dead_, or as good as.” Jaime thought he could actually feel Jon Snow bristle behind them at those words, but Jaime had no patience for his feelings just then.

Brienne set her jaw and spun away from him, prying the door open and marching out into the snow.

Jaime kicked the chair positioned between the hearth and the door. They had been arguing since the raven had come with the news some hours before, dragging them from their sleep.

“You should go after her, Ser,” said Jon quietly. “She’ll freeze, or worse.”

Jaime turned toward him and barked a bitter laugh. “And what is it to me if she does?”

Jon’s smile was sad, more haunted than a lad his age should be–a sentiment Jaime understood well. Watching him, Jaime’s temper seemed to cool with the winds Brienne had allowed into the room.

“I fear you would regret it, is all.”

“What do you know of regret, boy?”

Jon shrugged and shook his head. “Enough to know what might make a man of honor act as though he has none.”

Jaime stared, a dozen insults and jests on the tip of his tongue. He uttered none of them. Instead he turned to the still-open door and sprinted down the path Brienne’s footprints had created.

He found her in the stables, furiously adjusting the saddle straps on a horse that looked as though it would not make it beyond the stable door.

“Come back inside, Brienne,” he said gently, trying a different tack.

She ignored him.

“_Brienne_.” When she continued to work, Jaime ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Stay with me. I can’t let you die a dishonored woman.”

She did look just then, briefly, and huffed a laugh as though she found his proposal ridiculous, as though Jaime did not find himself ridiculous. “Did we spend so long searching for Lady Sansa only to let her die so horribly?”

“Lady Sansa is a woman grown, with a husband, an army, and the name Stark to protect her.” He smirked in spite of his exasperation. “Do you think so highly of yourself that you believe your skill to be above all that?”

He thought he could see her hesitate for a moment, her fingers stilling where they worked securing her gear to the horse. He thought, maybe–

“Goodbye, Jaime.” She turned toward him, a soft and sad expression on her marred face that only served to enrage him. “Would that you might come with me. But if–if this is the last that we see one another, then I just want to say–”

“Right.” There was only one tactic left to him.

Jaime closed the distance between them in two long strides. He bent slightly in front of her, his joints protesting from recent overuse. One arm hooked under knees and the other wrapped brusquely around her shoulders.

“What are you _doing_!” she protested from his arms.

Jaime didn’t answer her as he marched back to the castle. Brienne did not make any movements to stop him bringing her with him, only stared up at him with wide eyes. The thought crossed his mind briefly that perhaps she liked the feeling of being in his arms this way as much as he liked having her there. But now was not the time or place for such thoughts, because they were back in the castle and Jon Snow was laughing.

“What is funny, Snow?” Jaime grunted out as Brienne began to struggle against him on their way to her room. He knew that there he could find an adequate distraction for her.

“Nothing, Ser Jaime. Only–” his face was alight with amusement, “–are you familiar with wildling marital practices?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone sending in prompts and responding so kindly to these little ficlets! Writing these keeps me going when I get stuck on my big multichapter WIP. It makes me so happy to know people are liking them! :-)


	7. The Police Box [Time Travel AU + Flowers of Romance]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime wants to find PhD candidate Brienne Tarth the perfect flower.

“What’s in the book?”

Brienne didn’t so much as glance up, her brow pinched together with concentration. Her blue eyes flitted across an image she was delicately tracing with thick, pale fingers.

“Hmm?” she said absently.

“The book. Something interesting?” Jaime was seated across from her, his feet propped up on her desk and hands interlaced behind his head.

She did look up then and frowned. “It’s nothing.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Seems like something.”

Brienne sighed. “These flowers went extinct in the seventeenth century, and only ever existed on an obscure island in French Polynesia. I’ve been searching for a painting of them since I first read about them in undergrad. They’re supposed to have been the sweetest smelling flower to have ever existed. But we destroyed their habitat.”

He studied her carefully, the look in her eyes wistful and sad. She never ceased to amaze him–so perfectly earnest, so perfectly _human_. These little details were what kept him coming back to the cramped office she shared with the three other PhD candidates studying botany.

“Do you know which island?”

She shot him a slightly puzzled look, which made sense, considering she only knew him as a Doctor of … well, he’d managed to hand-wave that much away. But he knew she wouldn’t buy that he knew the first thing about 17th century botany.

“Moorea.”

“Moorea,” Jaime repeated slowly, standing from his place behind her desk. “Moorea…” He grinned, hands on his hips. “I’ll be back.”

“Back? Where are you going?

Jaime only winked at her.

“The last of the Time Lords,” they called him, Jaime reflected as he made his way to the locked supply closet he used to conceal his TARDIS. And yet–all he had done for the last six Earth months was try to convince himself not to drag the Tarth girl away from her studies while simultaneously lacking the restraint to just stop talking to her. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, though, if she knew what sort of flowers awaited her across space and time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Who fusion! This is totally out of left field, but hopefully still a decent installment.


	8. The Inn at the End of the Universe [Bed Sharing + Time Travel AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor!Jaime and PhD candidate Brienne find comfort at the end of an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to the Doctor Who 'verse from chapter 7.

Jaime glanced over his shoulder, hoping Brienne would catch up before their assailants could. He held the door to the inn open, waiting. _Come on, come on_.

He was about to go after her when she at last turned the corner, pale blonde hair sailing behind her as she collided into him. Jaime caught her with one arm and pulled them into the inn, closing the door with a hurry behind them.

“What are we going to do?” she said breathlessly, staring up at him with wild blue eyes. “That flimsy door won’t hold them out for long!”

“What are you calling _flimsy_?” growled a voice from behind them. A man with a burnt face stood before them, an apron around his waist and hands on his hips.

Jaime smiled his most charming smile and reached out a hand to the man. “Jaime Lannister,” he said cheerfully. “We were hoping for a pair of rooms for the night.”

The innkeep narrowed his eyes first at Jaime, then at Brienne. “You come barging into my inn, disturbing my peace, calling my door flimsy, and then _you _have a favor to ask _me_?”

Jaime shrugged. “We have coin.” 

He turned to Brienne and smiled apologetically. She rolled her eyes and dug around in the bag she wore across one shoulder, pulling out two golden coins.

The inkeep glared down at Jaime. “I have one room and one bed.”

“_No_,” she said at the same second Jaime said, “we’ll take it!”

She sighed with resignation. “We’ll take it.”

When the door was safely shut behind them, Brienne began pacing. “Doctor,” she said, dropping his Earthly alias, “_what_ are we going to do? Those … those _things_ have the building surrounded, I’m sure.”

“Oh, stop worrying. They can’t cross doorways without permission to enter. And since you and I seem to be the only ones who can see them on this planet, I’m certain we’re safe.” He pulled a pillow off of the bed. “You need to sleep. In the morning, we’ll come up with a plan.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, pausing in her tracks to watch him.

“You take the bed. Your nerves will thank you for a good night’s sleep.”

“And what of _your_ nerves, Doctor?”

“I don’t require much sleep, and I’ve slept in worse places anyway.” Jaime smiled fondly. “Under a bridge. Underwater. Standing in the queue at the DVLA.”

Brienne blinked at him and shook her head. She turned down the blankets. “At least come lie on the bed if you’re not actually planning to sleep. It’s roomy enough, and you’re too old to be in the floor.”

Jaime studied her face for a moment, noticing how she did not meet his eye and selfishly enjoying the way her awkwardness pleased some part of him. Without another word, he moved toward the bed and slid under the covers.

Brienne joined him quietly, enough space between them that they were not touching. She was silent for a long while, though Jaime knew she was not sleeping.

“Doctor,” she eventually whispered, “you brought me with you so that I could study the flowers on Moorea. But we’re in the ninenteenth century Wild West instead, and there are invisible aliens chasing us.”

Jaime turned his head to see that she was staring up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, wench. I should never have told you.”

Brienne shifted onto her side to face him. “It isn’t that. I just… It’s… _a lot_.”

“I know.” He didn’t, though, not truly. The guilt ate away at him some days. Had he spoiled her? Would she have preferred to stay in her own time, on her own planet? There was no way to actually know.

“Don’t look so distraught, Doctor.” She reached out a hand under the blanket to take his, squeezing it. “I never thought I’d have an adventure quite like this, with someone quite like you.”

Jaime glanced back over at her, their fingers tangled together between them, and smiled warmly. He wanted to say “likewise,” but found that he did not need to say anything at all.


	9. Awake [Aroused by Her Voice + Mutual Pining]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nurse Brienne Tarth doesn't even realize she's saving Dr. Jaime Lannister's life with every word she speaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from sarahoftarth on tumblr: aroused by her voice + mutual pining.
> 
> It turns out, I'm pretty bad about putting these up onto AO3 in a timely fashion. My only excuse is that I'm pretty intensely into my main fic, [Constant as the Northern Star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893191/chapters/52256002). But I do love these little ficlets. They're so much fun, so thank you to everyone who has sent them! More to come.

Time passed slowly for Jaime Lannister. Or perhaps no time had passed by at all. He had no way of marking the hours or days that had elapsed since the accident.

He thought he had heard Cersei’s voice once, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. His brother’s hand had rested upon Jaime’s left on a few occasions, but never the right. After a while, he didn’t feel his brother’s presence anymore.

The nurses treated him well enough. They would help him change positions every couple of hours. They washed his face and changed his dressings. They must be administering pain relievers too because Jaime felt nothing. They were kind and seemed proficient, performing their tasks and then slipping out to leave him to rest.

All but one nurse.

Where he had not been able to fully understand anything said to him, even from members of his own family, nurse Brienne’s voice was as clear as bell. His thoughts were a jumbled, confusing mess, but he thought he knew the first time he had become aware of her.

“Hi, Jaime,” she had said softly, taking his left hand in hers and rubbing small circles across the top with her thumb. “My name is Brienne, and I’m going to be taking care of you.”

It was passing odd to Jaime that a voice so low and gentle might bring his consciousness so close to the surface of wakefulness. And where was Cersei? Where was his father? He wanted to wake up then, to ask the nurse holding his hand why his family was not there. But he still could not.

His lucidity waxed and waned, but during the moments he came to, it was always when Brienne was in the room. She would sit with him in the dead of night when all else was still, reading a passage at a time from a book about a disgraced knight and his unconventional lady love. She would wash his hair and trim his beard, talk to him about what was playing on his television, and occasionally he thought he heard her humming a tune.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Jaime.” His consciousness came alive at the sound of her melodic voice, a rich alto he now associated with life itself; a promise of the future that he clung to with all the desperation his addled mind could manage.

Jaime heard the chair next to his bed squeak and groan as she sunk into it. “I had hoped to have the holiday off this year, so that I might visit my father. It’s just me and him now.” She paused. “But it isn’t so bad, taking care of you.”

He could feel the sadness in her voice, in the light squeeze of his hand, always his left hand. Jaime wanted to squeeze back, to let her know she wasn’t alone, not really.

“_Jaime?_” she suddenly exclaimed, her voice now an urgent whisper. “Did you just squeeze my hand? Can you do it again?”

Jaime wasn’t sure that he had actually done anything, but he tried again. This time he could feel his fingers move, slowly pressing into hers.

“Jaime… Dr. Lannister? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

He was suddenly aware then, not just of Brienne’s voice like the light at the end of a dark tunnel, but also of the familiar beeping of the heart monitor above his head, muffled voices in the hallway, the television at the other end of the room.

Jaime took a deeper breath than he had previously been aware he could, making him cough. He felt Brienne’s warm hand made contact with his forehead, running her fingers through his hair soothingly. When his breathing had calmed again, he tried it.

Jaime opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a pair of eyes, and the next thing he knew, he remembered. Coming out of the hospital, a large brown truck sliding too fast into the ambulance bay, a weary nurse who wasn’t going to be able to move in time. He had jumped without thinking. The last thing he had seen before losing consciousness was a pair of blue eyes in the face of the woman he had just saved.

“You’re awake. You’re–it’s been so long, Dr. Lannister–no one was sure–”

He tried for a smile but his mouth was dry and and sore, and he was certain the effect was not what he intended. He wanted to thank her, to praise her, to let her know how she had saved him, but the words wouldn’t come just yet.

“_Brienne_,” was all he managed, his throat scratchy and voice hoarse with disuse.

Her blue eyes filled with tears and she flung her arms around his neck with a gentleness a woman of her size did not seem capable of. She was whispering in his ear: _thank you_s, _I’m so happy_s, and other kindnesses he could not quite make out. Jaime’s heart seemed to tighten with each word she pressed into his hair. And the long-sleeping neurologist in him wondered how conscious a person had to be to fall in love. It was, perhaps, an experiment he had already conducted.


	10. Live Without Shame [Movie Quote Mashup]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Thirty-seven days and a wake-up. Thirty-seven days and a wake-up. Thirty-seven days…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the current pandemic, I'll not be stressing too much about working on my longer WIP(s). I work in an ICU so all of my focus will be going into my job and keeping my family safe.
> 
> But! I'll be updating this collection of prompt fills/ficlets. Feel free to [send some more my way](http://pretty--thief.tumblr.com/ask). Shorter works that I can complete in a couple of hours are usually alright to work on.
> 
> This one is for the [movie quote mashup challenge](https://pretty--thief.tumblr.com/post/190594479674/movie-quote-mash-up):  
2\. “I will return. I will find you. Love you. Marry you. And live without shame.” - Atonement (2007)  
8\. “I wish I knew how to quit you.” - Brokeback Mountain (2005)
> 
> This is set during a modern war and is a bit dark. Please read responsibly.

_Thirty-seven days and a wake-up. Thirty-seven days and a wake-up._ _Thirty-seven days…_

Jaime Lannister was lying on his back in the dirt, staring up at the night sky and repeating his mantra. The trouble had begun at ninety-three; it had been ninety-three days and a wake-up until his enlistment with the Army was completed and he could return safely back to Westeros. Back to _life_. How far away such hopes now seemed.

“Jaime,” a low voice cut through the smoky night air, more pleasing to his ears than any other sound he had heard since setting foot on foreign soil. “Jaime, what are you doing?”

He did not answer her immediately. Instead he focused on his breathing, trying to push down the acid in his throat and the spinning of his head. After a stretch, he shifted onto his side to take in as much of her as he could see in the pitch black night.

The corners of his mouth softened, so imperceptibly that only she might have noticed. He reached out his good hand, heavy as lead, and traced the worried lines of her brow, ran his fingers down her crooked nose, stopped at the frown that weighed down her lower lip. His eyes met hers, dulled by darkness but still the bluest he had ever seen.

“Dying,” he responded with as much of a rueful little smile as he could conjure up.

And it was true. He had barely eaten since they had made their escape from the prisoner of war encampment where they had spent close to two months, Jaime now with one less hand for their troubles. Every morsel they could scrounge up made him wretch, every drop of water seemed to gag him. He would not delude himself, nor her, about the path that he was on.

Anyone else might have argued or attempted to placate him. But not her. Not Brienne Tarth, with her bone-deep honesty.

Brienne only nodded and turned onto her back, allowing his fingers to drop onto the threadbare wool blanket they had spread on the ground beneath them. They had been close to dying before, during their weeksof captivity. Even before then, back on the front lines, they had learned to function as a well-oiled machine, saving one another’s lives so often it felt like second nature. It had been there, during the winter holidays “banquet,” that he had worked up the nerve to kiss her. And _gods _she had tasted like watery ale and cranberries from a tin, everything and nothing he had expected.

He had been kissing her when they had been captured, too. It hadn’t been until the moment they’d felt the pistols in the smalls of their backs that he’d suddenly understood _why_ the Army expressly forbade relationships while deployed. For however many days or weeks he had left, Jaime would never–_never_–forgive himself for putting her in that situation.

“It would appear that we’re _really fucked now_,” he’d said with a wry smile to himself that first night, his back to the wall and sprawled on the cold concrete floor.

From the next cell over and much to Jaime’s surprise, she had laughed, earning them a shout in a language he didn’t understand from the jailer on shift.

“We’ll get out of here,” she had said calmly. “We have to.”

“Ever the optimist, eh Tarth?” He shook his head, grinning in spite of the hunger gnawing at the pit of his stomach and the dehydration headache that was beginning to cause his vision to blur. “You’re entirely too much.“ He sighed dramatically. "I wish I knew how to quit you.”

“Oh shut up,” she chuckled, and if he closed his eyes, he could picture the blush in her cheeks.

But the jailer had then provided physical reminders of the price of conversation, and his days had become much more silent.

Until she had found a way out.

“Jaime,” she whispered again, turning back toward him on their blanket. “Jaime, I think … I think I need to go ahead and find help.”

“So I’ve been saying.”

He couldn’t see much, but he could make out the crease between her brow that suggested she was scowling at him.

“We _have_ to be close to base by now.” There was a nervous edge to her voice beneath a very genuine attempt at confidence.

“Brienne–”

“If I can make it there, we can arrange for a party to come back for you. Then I can lead them to the POW camp, and they can get us all home.” She was sitting up then, propped up on one hand and looking down at him.

Jaime wanted to sit up next to her, to lean into her, but was fairly certain the effort might actually kill him. So he just moved his hand to cover hers and smiled softly.

“I trust you.”

She shifted forward somewhat, just enough to cup his cheek with a hand warmer than Jaime himself had been in days. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into her hand, craving more of her than he had the energy to pursue.

Far too soon, her warmth was gone, and Jaime shivered at the loss.

“Jaime, listen to me. I _will_ return. I will find you.” She paused for only a second, an intensity in her eyes that seemed to burn even in the darkness. “Love you. Marry you. And live without shame.”

Jaime could feel his heart hammering heavily in his chest. It was the most either of them had ever acknowledged about what had been happening between them during their year-long deployment. It had simultaneously been the best and the absolute worst time of Jaime’s life.

_Thirty-seven days and a wake-up_, Jaime thought after she had gone and he’d begun to drift into an uneasy sleep. _Thirty-seven days and a wake-up, and then no one can come between us. I only have to trust her._


	11. High School Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She might regret it in the morning, after he’d gone home and lost interest in her for another ten years, but the truth was that anything with Jaime would always be a “yes.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [sdwolfpup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup) and [DJL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJL) for the "high school reunion" prompt!

Brienne was not having a good time.

It was exactly what she expected, though. Packed into the drab ballroom of a mediocre King's Landing hotel with everyone she never wanted to see again. Horrible music she’d wanted to avoid even as a teenager. Whispers behind her back and smug smirks across the dark room that people evidently thought she could not see.

She would not have come if not for Margaery.

“_Please_ go,” she’d begged over the phone only two days eariler, “you have to.”

“I really don’t,” Brienne had countered, sliding heavily into a kitchen chair.

“_Jaime Lannister_ might be there.”

“I don’t know why you’d think I might care about that,” she lied.

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Brienne felt guiltier with each second. “I don’t want to go alone. Please don’t make me face those people alone.”

Brienne had groaned into the phone and given in. These sorts of things had always been important to Margaery and Brienne had always been the supportive friend.

But Margaery had left their table an hour ago with the promise to be right back. Brienne had been nursing her ginger ale and watching with wry distaste as Mark Mullendore tried to woo a group of women. Something about bringing up your pet monkey at every turn seemed much less cute at twenty-eight than it had been at seventeen.

She took a long drink from her cup and glanced up at the clock on the far wall. Perhaps she could sneak out. Margaery had clearly found more interesting ways to occupy her evening. And Brienne was only there for her.

It was as she glanced back down that she caught sight of him. Jaime Lannister was leaning against the wall under the clock, staring directly at her. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat, much to Brienne’s aggravation. She thought she’d be past that by now.

In high school, Jaime had been tall and athletic with boyish good looks and a dazzling sardonic smile. Ten years later, he was perhaps an inch or two taller and filled out as though the gods had sculpted his body themselves. Broader, stronger shoulders encased by a crimson button-down and a black tie slung haphazardly around his collar. Long legs in black slacks that hugged the thick muscles of his thighs. His hair was shorter and more professional than the ringlets he’d kept as a youth. But the smile was just as sharp, just as knowing. And he was directing it at _her_.

Brienne let her gaze fall, but she knew he’d caught her staring.

She caught sight of a shimmery blue dress in one corner of the ballroom. Margaery was flashing a smile so completely fake it almost made Brienne laugh. Until she recognized the flowing blonde hair of the woman she was speaking to. Cersei Lannister—Baratheon?—no, definitely _Lannister_; Robert Baratheon’s death had been highly publicized. Brienne couldn’t make out what they were saying, but she could see Osney Kettleblack pressing himself into the wall behind them, looking mortified. There was some history between the three of them that Brienne could not quite recall the details of. It was certainly nothing she wanted any part in.

She had resolved that she should just leave when she heard a voice over her shoulder.

“They’re still extremely embarrassing, aren’t they?”

She grimaced and turned slowly to face him. He was even better looking up close, like something from a men's fitness magazine. It wasn't fair that he should grow more handsome with age while Brienne only grew more… _Brienne._

"May I sit?"

Brienne stared up at him. "What do you want, Jaime?"

He laughed and sat down anyway. "Well this _is_ a reunion. One can't be too sure but I do believe the point is to say hello to old friends."

"Were we friends?" she shot back before she could stop herself.

She immediately regretted the words. Of course Jaime had been her friend, at least toward the end. After the incident with the Red Connington and the hockey team. But Jaime had chosen to follow Cersei to the prestigious university their father had chosen for them and Brienne had gone to state school. He'd said goodbye at the end of the summer and she'd pretended her heart hadn't shattered into a million pieces. _Stupid girl._

"Brienne," he chided, his brow knitted together with annoyance. At least his scowl hadn't changed a bit.

"How was Crakehall?" she asked, watching the drama between Margaery and Cersei continue to simmer.

"I dropped out."

Brienne's eyebrows shot up and she turned to face him in full. She didn't have words for that. Jaime had never been one to disappoint his sister nor his father. She couldn't imagine either would approve of that.

"Don't look so surprised, Tarth. Did you ever know me to be a good student?"

She couldn't stop the slight upturn of her lips. Brienne had spent countless hours trying to get him to take his calculus homework seriously. He had never been bad at it, he had just refused to care. It had nearly driven her insane.

"I suppose not." She bit her lip, recognizing a turning point in the evening and deciding to lean into it rather than back away. "So what have you been up to then?" She wanted to tell him he looked good. Too good for someone who'd presumably thrown away success and opportunity with both hands.

He shrugged and looked away as though embarrassed. "I write."

"You were always a very good writer," she said softly, recalling with ease his moving and often beautiful command of language. She'd always told him as much before she had even finished proofreading, but he'd never believed her.

"You're the only one who ever thought so."

"I'm the only one you ever allowed to read any of it."

He held her gaze, his green eyes bright even in the dim lighting. "Would you want to get a drink?"

"I can't leave Margaery." That was not strictly true, of course.

Jaime chuckled. "I would never ask you to. Not with my sister around, anyway. I meant from here." He nodded to the bar.

"Oh! Oh, no I'm fine." She felt herself blush and she clutched the plastic cup of soda too tightly, only noticing when it collapsed between her fingers and crinkled loudly. "How is Cersei?" She meant to sound casual, but her voice came out too high.

"No idea. This is my first time seeing her in six years. But that Kettleblack is following her around like she owns him, so I'd imagine she's fine." His tone was light but Brienne recognized the edge of bitterness.

"Six years?"

"She's awful," he grumbled without any further explanation. It surprised her; Jaime had always defended his sister even to Brienne. Even at her worst.

He stood then, chewing the inside of his cheek and staring across the sea of people. "Can we just get out of here? I'm tired of being surrounded by lickspittles and halfwits and I know you must be too."

"You're being very rude."

"It isn't rude to make observations."

"It _is_. We've been over this."

Jaime offered her a tight-lipped smile. Brienne wondered if he was thinking about it too: the way they had been. How easily they fell into old rhythms.

“I’m glad you came, Brienne. I was hoping you’d be here.”

“I don’t know _why_.” Was she still bitter? She was happy to see him.

“Yes you do.”

She blinked up at him. There had been _something_ between them. As she’d grown older it had been easier to attribute that _something_ to teenaged fantasies. But the way he was looking at her now...

"Come with me,” he said quietly, eyes shining hopefully. “We’ll go knock mailboxes off their posts, egg Hyle Hunt’s truck, and sneak booze from your dad’s liquor cabinet. For old times’ sake.”

Brienne huffed a blunted laugh and shook her head. “We never did any of that.”

Jaime smiled in earnest then, all straight teeth and dimples. “Well, we could start.”

Brienne sighed and stood, glancing back at Margaery. She’d extricated herself from Cersei and was now laughing with Arys Oakheart.

“I’m not damaging any property,” she warned him, pointing an accusatory finger.

He grinned and took her arm in his, guiding them toward the door. “But the booze is a yes?”

She shook her head despairingly with a roll of her eyes, but she led him lead her out. Brienne might regret it in the morning, after he’d gone home and lost interest in her for another ten years, but the truth was that anything with Jaime would always be a “yes.”


	12. Home [Dad!Jaime AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you asked Jaime 24 hours ago if he was ready to introduce his girlfriend to his kids, he would have said yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon on tumblr in response to the [first five sentences](https://pretty--thief.tumblr.com/post/614422530659418112/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short) prompt meme.
> 
> I realize that I am very, very terrible at updating this collection. My apologies!

If you asked Jaime 24 hours ago if he was ready to introduce his girlfriend to his kids, he would have said yes. But loitering outside his front door now, Brienne at his side, his confidence had begun to wane.

“Jaime.” He felt her fingertips brush his bicep and he glanced over at her, frowning. “You don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing up at her from under a furrowed brow. “It isn’t that. It’s only–Tommen can be clingy. Myrcella is a bit blunt. Joffrey’s usually a moody diva–”

She snorted but slid her arm under his, linking them together. “Tyrion _has_ mentioned they take after you.”

Jaime grimaced. “Fairly certain there’s an insult buried in there and I can’t even be offended by it, can I?”

“Afraid your foot met your mouth on this one, Lannister.” She was smiling down at him, warm and encouraging. Jaime had never expected anyone would look at him that way, but Brienne had proven to be full of surprises.

“Alright. But I’ll not hear any complaining when Tommen demands you lightsaber duel to the death and Joffrey responds only in eyerolls. You asked for this.”

“I would never complain,” she said softly, giving his arm a squeeze.

Jaime inhaled deeply and let the breath out just as slowly. He fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door, crossing into the foyer with Brienne just behind him.

At first, he thought he’d been right to be anxious. But they only needed the space of one round of home made cookies for him to realize how wrong he had been.. His daughter had asked Brienne about her time in the national women’s soccer league and the two had barely stopped chatting since. Joffrey had merely been sulky, on his best behavior since finding the new therapist. Tommen had only once tried to force her to hold his perturbed and yowling cat. In fact, none of the catastrophic scenarios he’d allowed to play out in his head while hovering on his doorstep had been like _this._

Some hours later, their evening drew to a close and the credits of the film they had watched rolled across the screen. Jaime leaned forward pensively in his armchair, elbows on his knees, fingers clasped together, and his eyes fixed on Brienne. She had curled up into the sofa across from him, relaxed in his home and on his furniture as though she had always been there. Tommen was stretched out on the other end with Ser Pounce snoozing quietly on his chest. Joffrey had fallen asleep in the other armchair looking uncharacteristically at ease. Myrcella sat by Brienne’s feet on the floor, a blanket covered in soccer balls draped around her.

“What’s the matter?” Brienne whispered, concern evident in her eyes when she met Jaime’s gaze.

He smiled reassuringly and crossed the length of his living room. Glancing around to make sure his children weren’t watching, he stood behind the couch with his hands on her shoulders and placed a lingering kiss to the crown of her head. He brought his knuckles to rest against her cheek, grazing the scar she’d once been so self-conscious of.

“Nothing, Brienne. Nothing at all.” Even as he said it, his heart beat heavily in his chest with the realization that, in fact, everything he’d ever quietly dreamed of but never hoped to actually obtain was right in front of him. As just a boy, after his mother had died, he had imagined what a home with a proper family might look like. It was all laid out before him now: the house he’d shared with his children since winning custody finally felt like _home_.

Jaime moved his hand from her cheek and slid it into the pocket of his jeans, touching the ring he had kept hidden there for several weeks. He wouldn’t ask tonight, though he’d been burning to for close to a year. She seemed comfortable, but he understood that he should give her time to adjust. It was still tempting, though. 

He straightened and glanced around at the unexpected peace surrounding him. He smiled to himself in the dim blue cast from the television screen; he knew now with renewed confidence that _this_ was what he wanted for the rest of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send prompt requests [here](pretty--thief.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
